Seeing is Believing
by JayJ1
Summary: "Isn't that how the saying goes?"
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers for 3x01**

* * *

The woman was dead and gone.

Crushed heart, and warm ash, still lingered in Rumplestiltskin's open palm. But he makes no move to brush it off for he was far too concerned with savoring the sight of the corpse now lying at his feet.

"I can't say I didn't want to see that happen."

Dark eyes shoot up in surprise at the voice. Even more shocking to them was the lone figure standing there looking down at the body of the vile woman responsible for his son's death.

"Emma," he uttered, thoroughly confused by her sudden appearance.

"Yes, here I am." She said, gaze rising up to him slowly, green eyes glowing and cunningly bright. "Can you _believe_ that?"

Perplexed, and in lieu of answering her sarcasm, Rumplestiltskin glances around the surrounding area; fully expecting—and dreading—to see the motley crew of incompetence that would surely have accompanied her presence here.

But he saw no one.

Looking back, he finds Emma staring at him quietly. He frowns, she smirks. It suddenly feels like role reversal.

"It's just me." She tells him. "None of them are here."

And so he quickly returns to form.

"Then I can only assume that the others have become so distracted bickering amongst themselves that you foolishly elected to go on ahead and venture off on your own."

But Emma says nothing to that, so he looks at her curiously.

"You must know that without you there to mediate the four of them may, for once, actually succeed in killing each other. Their lack of decorum is comically obvious. I'm rather surprised you've managed to make it this far so quickly."

Unexpectedly, she still doesn't bite back. She remains passive, and doesn't react despite his open mockery of the people she cared for. It was eerie, and unlike her, not to respond in defense of others.

She stayed silent, and just kept on staring at him.

So he does the same to her.

There is an uncommonly soft lightness to her pale features then that confuses him and which, unintentionally, begins to stir something inside him.

Like the warmth of a once forgotten memory.

It's odd, to see her like this; considering extenuating circumstances. She seemed, almost strangely, too calm and maybe a little playful in her demeanor.

"Something on your mind, Gold?" she asked, having caught notice of his off guarded attentiveness.

"Nothing that concerns you, dearie," he said, tone sharper then necessary. But Emma is unfazed by it. He wonders if she'd finally grown accustomed to its harsh and cutting sound.

"Funny, considering how much you had to say to me early about what you were thinking," She paused, steps over Tamara's corpse, and saunters just past him. Only to stop and remains near his side. She glances sidelong at him for a moment.

"Mostly of how little you thought of me."

She then looks away. He notes how purposefully and lax her stance becomes. He thinks she's waiting for his response, perhaps even expecting an apology.

He barely offers the former, "and that opinion still stands."

Then Rumplestiltskin claps his hands together sharply; the small burst of dust rises and swiftly catches in the winds. The ashy remains of his son's killer scatter and spill along the cold soil. The wind here is soft and sweeping, but there's not a sound to be heard.

"Though I will admit," he begins, after a mournful beat, to distract himself and also upon noticing Emma's muted stillness and continuously close proximity, "I am quite impressed you were able to find me."

He turns his gaze towards her slowly; aligns his eyes along the delicate angle of her face. He wants to read her expression even if it's only partially visible.

"Perhaps you may be more adept within the constructs of Neverland then you had initially appeared to be."

"And appearances are what matter most." Emma said, tilted her head back just a little for him to see, voice considering, "seeing is believing. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

His fingers twitch and curl at his side. He does not know why.

"So you're angry with me." He decides with a dismissive nod of acknowledgment, "for what I said to you on the ship."

"No," she shook her head, wisps of blonde glow along the moonlight, "you said exactly what I needed to hear."

The words linger heavily around them, over him mostly, and he thinks to say something back. But he can't seem to think of a single word to say.

"And that's what you do." She continues with a swift turn of her body; facing him once more, and looks at him like a puzzle solved, "try to help, guide me along in some form or manner, although it's usually in the most condescending and patronizing way possible."

She pauses, gives him another inscrutable look, inhales, and then finally said, "in spite of the cost to you, I really do think you want me to succeed in finding Henry."

Rumplestiltskin stilled, regarded her suspiciously and with anger.

"And what do you know of cost? Have I not already suffered the loss of my son? What more could I lose?"

She scoffed openly at his indignation. "You don't think I can't get inside your head Dark One? See what makes it turn, and go tick tock?"

She moves suddenly; steps once, then twice, and dispels much of the distance between them.

"You're a selfish man, first and foremost, Gold. So there's no way that this, you being here in Neverland, is just about you wanting to honor Neal's memory. There's something else going on, and it's why you went rogue the second we got here."

He leans into her; intimidating and close. "Careful there, dearie, you're treading on dangerous grounds."

"That's never stopped me before," she whispered back.

It's heated and evocative; the threat and challenge brewing between them. Like a wildfire; it burned unpredictably and nearly sears his cold control.

So for once, it's Rumplestiltskin who blinks first.

But only to catch a better look, "you're not real."

And with those words stripped and laid bare something tangible is left exposed; the silence becoming crisp and purposeful. And the gust of wind that follows is a heavy one; dancing against his flesh and through his bones as ifs being guided along by another's skillful persuasion. He shivers, despite himself, then declares firmly; absolute in his conviction.

"You're not really Emma."

And the woman standing in front of him gives a smirk; softly twisted and turning.

* * *

Hello! It's been a little while.

This was originally meant to be just a oneshot for my Golden Moments series but then I decided that it would be fun to break it up into a short multi-chapter fic instead. I began writing this after the premier last week, having finally found myself inspired to write again (spent the whole summer writing a whole lot of nothing) and I'm not too sure where or how far I'm gonna go with this yet but I hope you all enjoy what I have done so far and continue to read along.

Let me know what you think. Reviews are always a welcome motivator.

xoxox


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm really, really not."

She confirmed with a lazy nod, then added, "yet here I am, as real as can be. Right here with you, Rumplestiltskin. Now that _really_ says something, don't you think?"

"Only that you're a trick. And a poorly played one at that."

He moves back briskly, and studies the shadow wearing Emma Swan as its mask. She in turn does nothing. Stands there and waits.

She's letting him figure this all out.

It takes him no time at all.

"I thought Pan was better then this," he said surely; annoyed by this unforeseen, though not unexpected, turn of events, "thought he had real imagination. Sending a manifestation of you to manipulate me, did he really think that would work?"

"You tell me." The visage of Emma challenged. "This is your head, after all."

Tilting her own curiously at him Rumplestiltskin notes the now distinctly inhuman quality to her movement as she asked specifically.

"Why am I here?"

But he remains silent; choosing not to answer such a dangerously innocent sounding question. Yet his lack of response only gives her incentive to continue on and fill in those blanks for him.

"Maybe—just maybe—it's because I do matter." She begins, her gaze imploring but certain and insightful. "And that I may have mattered to you a little more then I should have."

She candidly begins to pace towards him. "At least, more then you'd ever care to admit or try to acknowledge anymore."

And he tries to not let it bother him; the things she's saying or the potential power they could have over him.

But then she steps in close, and is once more near him; her stance eloquent and still, and right there in front of him. And the calculating smile she bares for him in that moment is a simple one.

So he knows he needs to get away. Break this spell quickly. "I have no time for such childish tricks."

But she pointedly ignores him, and lowers her voice down as if telling him a deep and dark secret meant only for his ears.

"You've gone and repressed what you felt; buried it away deep inside. But now Peter Pan's found it, dug it all up, and brought me out to play this little game with you."

And as she makes her hushed declarations and intentions known Rumplestiltskin can barely contain the anxious and gnawing rage at them, or refrain himself from lashing out against her for daring to say them to him so boldly.

Yet, just staring back at the face that was Emma's—but wasn't—seemingly has the same affect over him as her true counterpart's had.

It inexplicably made him stop.

So he directs his contempt into the next words he spoke.

"If that conniving little brat thinks for moment that he can get inside my head, and toy with my emotions, he should have been smart enough to at least conjure up an illusion of my beloved Belle."

"The heart of your goodness, and North Star?" the false Emma asked skeptically, as if she'd just heard the most absurd thing in the world. "Why would he do that when he could use your weakness, and darker nature, to entice you instead?

She gives a loud tisk and shakes her head with disapproval. "I thought you were better at these sorts of games."

Rumplestiltskin openly scoffed, his disbelief blatantly apparent, "you—he—truly believes that Emma Swan, of all people, is a weakness of mine? What could I possible desire from an emotionally stunted, strong headed, and infuriatingly disillusioned woman like her?"

She actually laughs. It's a crude and jarring little sound. And nothing at all how he'd once imaged her laughter would be like.

But he quickly forces that thought away.

"Such an interesting word choice there…desire. To wish for and strongly want some—"

"Enough." He snapped, turned around briskly, and began to walk away; determined to leave this place, and that woman behind, "we're done playing now."

"But why am I her?"

The sound of Emma's voice echoes behind him; as light and cool as the night air surrounding them, "_why_ me?"

The implication stops him dead. He circles around, and looks back at her.

"Because of a kiss, I would think," she answers for herself, sighing gently and melodramatically; clearly a ploy to aggravate him. He sneers, but waits for her to elaborate further.

She does so, in a manner, but only after a deliberately prolonged beat.

"Back in Storybrooke, you must have asked yourself again and again; why hasn't it worked yet?"

He plays dumb, "what?"

"True love's kiss," she said, "you're still the Dark One. And Belle, well, the end of Lacey was just one of those magical—at the eleventh hour—sort of fixes.

Her voice then noticeably lightens up in tone; giving it a delighted and cruel sounding edge as she carried on. "That's what brought her back in the end since, as you may recall, your kiss fell pretty damn flat in that department."

And Rumplestiltskin can only feel his anger rising back up sharply with each word she spoke, even more so then the dread that seems to fill him.

So he tries to reason it all away, "magic is complicated and layered—like love—it functions differently in every world."

"But not true love," She contended, "Its power is the strongest magic of all and the only one capable of transcending worlds. And breaking any curse."

This Emma regarded him too perceptively, "you can't honestly believe that you and Belle are just the exception to that timeless and classic rule."

"There's no other explanation needed for it. It simply is the way it is," he said, "and I whole heartily believe in that."

She smiles, dark and knowingly, "liar, liar," she sang.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hi there :)

So I definitely posted this chapter a bit sooner-and a little bit shorter in length-then I had originally planned to but I ended up having some free time to write and decided because its Turkey long weekend I'd give my readers a nice gift of thanks for taking a chance and reading this story. And especially for those who reviewed. I'm so glad you're liking this story so far and I hope you continue to do so.

Now off I go to eat, and eat, and eat.

xoxox


	3. Chapter 3

"You are truly a horrible personification of Emma Swan." Rumplestiltskin frowned, irritably.

"Well whose fault is that?" She shot back childishly, "with our history together, you'd think you'd know me a bit better then this."

They leer at each other, but only for a split second. Because then she drifts off, and curiously wonders towards a stray beam of moonlight.

And it's a peculiar—though fascinating—sight to behold; watching as this skewed version of the savior becomes preoccupied with studying her own flesh and blood. Feeling it out and testing its motion before raising an arm up with distinct and inquisitive purpose to roam airily along the silvery light.

She appeared dazed but quite taken by what she was seeing and experiencing as she begins to engage her hand in simple but deliberate activities. Stretching, and clenching, and waving it around from side to side.

And Rumplestiltskin mindlessly observes her as she carries on for a short time.

But then she twiddles those long fingers of hers; does so in a manner too similar to his own for it to be anything but coincidental.

It immediately jars his attention, and sparks his notice and annoyance; for she's clearly amusing herself at his expense.

And now he's beginning to lose what little remains of his patience.

"And what is this really?" He asked bluntly; his growing frustration with her evident in the quick snap of his tone of voice.

"What could possible be Pan's objective with this little game of his?"

The question lurks in the darkness between them. Reluctantly, she lowers her arm back down into the shadows; her strange and childlike wonderment fading along with its decent.

She turns her fallen gaze to him once more as he tells her firmly, and too insistently.

"Intimidating me by using the knowledge of a short lived infatuation with a woman I could never have will provide him with no advantage against me."

Her stare ignites and flickers. She opens her mouth snappishly; a clever retort surely formed and ready to strike.

But then she stops and says nothing to him at all.

Instead, she angles her head to the side—ever so slightly—as if turning her ear up to catch on to the soft hum of a low whisper. Her lengthy hair gets swept up in a gust of wind while her eyes fall wayward and become dull as she listens for its sound.

Rumplestiltskin's own body grows tense with each passing heartbeat he feels stuttering within him. He's worried, and feels out of his element.

In fact, he knows that he is.

So he takes the quieted moment to promptly assess and consider his options.

And he knows without a doubt that fleeing from this place would be the obvious and most effective course of action. Especially with his blonde and artificial annoyance currently preoccupied. He can leave now without notice, or further conflict. And can simply be done with this.

No fuss, no muss.

But then, his crueler and much more vindictive side interjects, reminds Rumplestiltskin that he could just as easily destroy this feisty doppelganger with a flaming flick of his wrist before going about on his merry way.

He even deliberates briefly on whether to give her a quick and sudden death; which was a mercy he would grant so few who dared to challenge his affections for Belle.

His fingers dance at the tempting thought as a stroke of heat twists and turns along his opened palm.

But then Emma's distinct but shadowy green eyes snap back into focus, and the look she gives him is one of decisive pursuit and cause. Chilling his hand, and freezing it still.

He clenches it shut.

And all Rumplestiltskin can do then is ask, "What does he want?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

A short update, but an update nonetheless. I actually wrote a little bit more for it but this honestly felt like the right place to end the chapter so I went with that instinct. Hopefully I can use what I have to get the next one completed and posted sooner.

As always, thank you all for reading.

Also, I wanted to send a special thanks to BundyShoes, dontmakemeatarget, and 14hpgirl19 for your wonderful reviews. I truly hope you continue to read and enjoy this story.

And I'm really glad you're all liking this fake Emma so far :) There's more to come with her.

xoxox


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